


Funny Little Frog

by sherlocking



Category: Flight of the Conchords (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocking/pseuds/sherlocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemaine is a confident guy. Definitely confident enough to share his innermost thought processes with people who need to know them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funny Little Frog

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this was really meant to turn out more shippy than it did. Just- just imagine that that's implied, okay? I swear it's supposed to be there. Im terrible at writing shippy things even when I want to.  
> Real talk: I've wanted to write a fotc fic since I was probably 14 years old. Started something but never finished it. it's been... a fair few years since then. So I decided I was going to fulfill that wish.. just because, I guess? I don't really care if this is short and uneventful or if anyone actually reads it, it's just for my personal satisfaction I suppose. hah.
> 
> This is I suppose somewhat based on the song of the same title. Aaaand that's really all the notes necessary I think. Cheers eh what!

Jemaine swore he was more confident than he came across. The confidence was there, really- it just got stuck in between a thought process and an action. Everything was safer there- ideas became songs which became elaborate scenarios that faded out in to nothing soon after. The songs were never written down, for the most part. Not that it really mattered; Rock The Party was always a safe bet. 

His confidence was there. Definitely. He was absolutely a confident guy.

Jemaine was awoken from an unexpected nap he had been taking by the rattling of the door, followed by general arriving-home commotion sounds. Bret was standing in the doorway, awkwardly trying to get his bike in to the room. "Oh, hey", said Jemaine, rubbing his eyes. "You're back." 

"Yeah. Work finished a bit early today. The boss said something about getting all the signs back to the warehouse for an inspection. Don't really know why." With a dramatic sweep, Bret managed to get the bike through the door. He propped it up next to the fridge and sat at the table. "How's things?"

Jemaine shrugged and stretched, still disoriented from his nap. "Not bad. Just had a nap." Bret nodded. "Right." 

There was a brief silence. "Do we have any food?" asked Jemaine. Night had fallen during his brief lack of consciousness, and his stomach was protesting somewhat. 

"I was thinking... we could make a pizza."

"Oh, great." 

* * *

The pizza had been a moderate success. It was burnt around the edges and cold in the middle, but they had enough tomato paste to cover the whole base this time, not to mention ham and cheese. It was definitely an improvement from the previous pizza, which was in actuality just a pizza base with cheese. It was fair to say that It had not been their finest culinary moment.

Jemaine coughed and leaned back, feeling somewhat better after the pizza. Perhaps even slightly confident. Confident enough to strike up an interesting conversation.

"When's the next band meeting?"

"Tomorrow, isn't it? At two. Murray said it was important." Jemaine snorted. "He's probably lost his electric pencil sharpener again, then." 

"Yeah, probably. Or maybe one of his CDs." They grinned at each other, then silence fell again. 

Jemaine was definitely confident. Maybe. He was having thoughts of confidence right now, in fact- thoughts of changing the subject completely, talking incessantly, telling Bret everything that had happened in his day, every thought process he had ever had, every song idea and inane story- and yet the silence remained. It had a tendency to do that at the worst times.

Bret yawned and stood up. "Ok, well I might go to bed now. 'Night."

Jemaine snapped out of his confident thought process. "Oh, right. Ok. 'Night." He stayed seated at the table, becoming transfixed on a small area of its surface. There was nothing remarkable about the table at all. Much like how there was nothing remarkable about his day. They were always the same. Thought processes turned in to songs turned in to speaking out loud that never happened.

He'd tell him about it all someday, he supposed.


End file.
